


Human Fire

by MotherPrussia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherPrussia/pseuds/MotherPrussia
Summary: France, the country of love, has lost love three times in his life. The first time, everyone knows about. The next two, no one knows about. Don't you want to know who were his other loves? (Hint: They're not countries. Sorry!)





	1. Cries of A New Life

_Human Fire_

Having a human child is not an easy thing. It never was. You may think, but Francis, you are an immortal nation and you have so much power! Perhaps, _mon ami_ , but in the presence of a child, a nation is reduced to the most human they will ever be. Maybe that is because children are the most pure beings on earth, especially very young children, so seeing such purity and innocence removes the pride and centuries of mental destruction caused by country-ship. If that's even a word. Anyways, let me tell you the story about how I became the most human I'd ever been since _J'eanne d'Arc_ , my first and true human love.

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Now, as a nation, I'm not permitted to marry any other nation of my choice because any and all marriages and alliances must be approved by my leader and by my well-wishers. In any case, that does not apply to human romances. Do not misunderstand, my friends, I have not fallen in love with anyone after I fell in love with J'eanne, but I do have sexual ventures often. Mostly because none of my friends or allies with make love to or with me. (Quite a bummer, so many of them are so attractive.)

This story is actually about my only human daughter and her human mother. Well, not that much about her mother, but she is a part of the story.

I first met the mother, Anita, in Paris. Cliché, I know. But it is true. She was honestly, one of the most beautiful women I've seen in a long time that doesn't use any makeup. Except for colored eyeshadows and such. Her skin and features needed no perfecting, only some highlighting. I didn't even know her, but she immediately seemed like a person I'd met before. Probably, her attitude reminded me of J'eanne's human incarnation…let's not talk about that. Anita was a truly interesting woman.

So when I finally mustered enough courage to ask her out to dinner with me, I expected an ambiguous, but hopeful answer. No. Anita shut me down without a second thought. This really damaged my morale for the rest of the day because when you are so, so sure of something that you are already planning for events or outcomes after that with no worries or doubts, rejection can really bring you down.

I persevered. I "pestered" her (that's what she told me) for about 5 days until she finally said yes. Mind you, that consisted of me: begging on my knees for hours and hours from morning to evening, getting her as many gifts as I could, bringing her flowers every single day, serenading her in whatever way I knew, etc.

(Honestly, I still don't know why she said yes after such a long time.) When we finally went on our date, it was amazing. I'd gotten a reservation at a cute Spanish restaurant near the Eiffel Tower for dinner. When she arrived, I think my heart nearly jumped out of me. I appreciate beauty as much as, actually more than, the next person, but this woman looked gorgeous. Her skin was quite tanned, more than mine, obviously, and her simple, but elegant black dress really brought out the lightness and golden tone in her skin.

It hugged her body so nicely, defining her curves and feminine figure, but still highlighting the musculature in her biceps and arms with the sleeveless straps. (I'm not a pervert, haters, I just love fashion~!)

When she caught me looking at her for so long, Anita gave me this slightly daring, slightly cute smile that made me want to melt into the ground beneath my Italian leather shoes. And then began the date.

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When we spoke, I learned a lot about her. I realize that, yes, that is what happens during a date, but I got to see how much of her true character reflected her behaviors and mannerisms in public and in private. I was thinking too much about what she was saying and thinking, that I can't even remember what I was eating!

I really admired her. Even now, I do. Anita was such a strong woman and so imposing…it was a little bit intimidating. I later on learned that she was part Indian, but she was über-liberal and independent, not what stereotypes would indicate.

After that, we went on more dates (for many months, close to two years). They were all fun, all of them. I learned something new about her every single date and I felt that I finally could connect with another human besides J'eanne and still trust and care for them…I did. God, I fell so hard in love. I adored her more than many things in my life, especially myself (But never my children or J'eanne. They hold the highest place in my heart.).

A country having sexual relations with a human is rare, almost unheard of, until that last date Anita and I had before we became affianced.

I shall not tell you the details of that night because all those sexual experiences are mine, and mine only. But I will tell you that everything about her, everything that she considered an insecurity, everything she loved and hated about herself, she gave to me. And I felt honored to have it.

Not only did she let me feel and show the love we shared, but she let me hear it, and for that, I cannot admit how grateful I am that she gave me so much access to her love, her heart…

The morning after, however, defined true bliss and pleasure. The joys of seeing your sexual partner beside you in the bed, appearing so ruffled and ravished, best take form in the morning, when sunlight and drowsiness make the partner so cute and worthy of adoration.

Unfortunately, she left me after breakfast, stating that she had a very important job to do and that I couldn't keep her with me. So, I let her go. Anita had a life of her own, I couldn't just take her all for myself.

Many weeks passed after that day and I was finally informed, by that beautiful human I had intercourse with, that she was pregnant. It was a shock to both of us, but me even more so, because despite her independence and dominant disposition, she told me that she wanted to keep the child and raise it with me.

So, in order for her family to not immediately hate me for impregnating their daughter before marriage (they were very modern and liberal too, but they did not want a pre-marital pregnancy in their family for the sake of their honor and reputation in their community) and out of my own respect for them, I asked her to marry me. She agreed this time, immediately and with no rejection in her voice.

Frankly, I was relieved. I didn't know if she'd do the same thing she did when I first asked her out and reject me with no doubt.

Her parents wanted a traditional marriage, to be able to maintain their honor and status, but she wanted a modern wedding. We went with both. I wanted to respect both their wishes and gain both parties' favor. Still, I felt extremely awkward at any family gatherings with my new fiancée, so Anita and I agreed to marry here in France.

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The marriage went on fabulously. It was a very small gathering of her friends and family and my friends and family on both days. Feliciano, like usual, was trying to chat up every single person at the party, but Ludwig kept him under control.

The actual decorations were amazing. A very large gazebo served as the location of the "altar". It was painted a pristine, pearl white, with purple sashes hanging all around the top of the dome, as well as around the bottom of the dome. Beautiful little Christmas lights hung all around the area surrounding the gazebo on very thin fishing strings, which made the place look like it was teeming with lightning bugs. The chairs were simple wood and the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower made everything look stunning.

Now, the bride was a completely different story. Anita was decked out in an Indian-Western fusion dress that made her look like a goddess. The gown consisted of a long white dress that went down to her feet and a pure white sash wrapped around her waist and hung over her left shoulder. Her hands and feet adorned by mehendi, which I understood as a form of temporary tattoos made with very powerful natural dyes made from leaves. And no woman in the world wore as much jewelry as she did that day. Three different sterling silver and crystal necklaces hung on her neck, her hips were held snug by a gorgeous silver belt of diamond, and her hands and ankles were adorned by bangles and rings and anklets (respectively).

I thought I was going to faint from how amazing she appeared in that getup…I actually did, now that I think about it.

But that's not important. What's important was the love and fire in her eyes when both ceremonies were over and we finally made love once again, but this time, with more vigor and passion. (We did actually check with an obstetrician about the possible safety risks involved with sexual activity occurring so soon after conception and fertilization, but she ensured that there are very little concerns when the fetus has not developed as of yet. Neither of us wanted our child to get harmed because of our sexual drive.)

I won't be telling you, dear reader, the entirety of the pregnancy because I do not wish to remind myself of all those days that my poor darling puked and felt ill and got angry with me and had cravings like a monster. I shall tell you, though, about the delivery…and how I became a widower, and a father, after 9 months of marriage…

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That morning, I was at a meeting with the French-speaking neighbors of mine to discuss border issues and international travel problems plaguing our allies. At some point, Anita called me frantically, fear audible in her voice as she panted and whimpered like an injured animal and told me about how she was on her way to the hospital because her water broke. I was barred from leaving the meeting until it was over, but I wouldn't break my wife's heart…I couldn't…so I told her I'd be there soon. I got no other calls from her or her family until I finished the meeting and was rushing to the hospital where Anita told me she was going for the delivery.

But, by the time I reached the room and saw her, it was almost too late. The doctors quickly informed me of her condition. My poor beautiful wife was on the bed, wires and tubes clinging to her arms as she clung to life. Sweat streaked down her face and stuck her hair to her forehead. Her body was quivering as if Anita were sleeping in a meat locker. Her eyes were barely staying open. I knew before they even said what they meant to say while they were apologizing…

Their explanations of why they can't do anything and what happened flew over my head as I approached the only other woman I loved in my entire life. I sat at her bedside and just spent the moments with her, not speaking, not crying, just smiling and watching her. She smiled back at me. I tried my hardest to remember all the days we spent together, falling in love more and more, until we were consumed by our passion and fire. That same passion and fire filled her eyes, like she was determined to not let go of me ever.

And then, within moments of coming back to her face, the fire was gone…The only sound made in the room after that were the cries of a new life, finally realizing its existence in the universe. The cold, cold universe that ripped my happiness from me once again…


	2. My Baby

The next hour in the hospital was a blur. All I could remember was the cries of a baby, hospital staff rushing around to remove my wife from the room and nurses rushing my daughter to a different room for some kind of study. I never did ask Anita what she wanted to name our child, but she did tell me that she would write it in a scrap of paper and place it in one of my many beloved jackets. 

I think I had felt some kind of intuition that led me to believe that the scrap would be in the jacket I was wearing at the moment of my beloved’s passing. So, I dug my hands, which were shaking like a frightened animal would in the arms of a vet, and felt around for anything that would feel like paper. I pulled out some papers, bills and sticky notes and the like...and at last, I gingerly grabbed onto and held up a piece of paper in the light. It looked like it was torn from the kind of paper Anita liked to draw doodles on at home. Thick paper with light flowery designs on one side and no designs on the other side. I turned it around and found on the other side, nineteen letters. The same nineteen letters that defined my child. Medina Claire Bonnefoy. 

I was quite delighted at the sight of those three words, but I was also horrified. I would have to raise this person, this child, into adulthood, and not give them any permanent problems. Anita was a natural with children. I could see it every time we passed a crying baby and she stopped to calm the child down, and then continued on her way like nothing happened. She would have been better for this child. To my misfortune, she isn’t here anymore. Not just mine, but also my baby’s. 

Those two words always shocked me when I was raising my first child, Matthieu Williams. Well, they still do. My baby… I can’t say I was ecstatic or shattered, but I can say this was one of the most life-changing experiences I’ve ever encountered in my life. 

A few hours later, the nurses brought my child to me. I was still in the room where my beloved had left me, but I was asked to leave so I wouldn’t impend preparations of the room for the next patient. Oddly enough, I was most disgusted that the nurse had placed the child into such an ugly blanket, but I quickly forgot about that fact when the little body was placed in my arms. 

I nearly toppled over. Not at the weight of the child, obviously, but rather at the weight of the situation. This was a living creature that I would have to feed, bathe, protect, teach, love, keep warm and healthy, and bring into adulthood and maturity. I began to cry. I cried like I hadn't in my centuries of life. I cried like my baby had when she was separated from her mother. 

The baby looked up at me and ceased her own wails of pain, sadness, or whatever was plaguing her. She looked up at me with the same eyes that were filling with tears at that moment, but also the same eyes that had closed forever just four hours ago. The most rich, chocolatey, golden tone of brown I had ever seen practically gazed into my soul. Eyes that she shared with her lioness of a mother. And hidden in those deep tones were freckles of ice blue, the same color that you’d see in my eyes when I was still a child myself. 

These eyes were mine. Mine and my darling’s. This child, held the perfect mix of my wife and me. Only a few moments after my crying had ended (due to the shock of seeing the child’s eyes), did I finally see the rest of her face. I couldn’t tell you who she looked like because her features looked just like other babies’. However, her skin, now clean and less red, was like amber. Not the golden part seen when it is held up in light, but earthy, copper tones like dark gold or even bronze. 

She smiled at me. With her tiny little lips and face and cheeks, she smiled at me. I wanted to cry again, but I only smiled back and held her close to my chest. The nurses recorded the name that Anita wanted my child to have and I signed the birth certificate with one hand, for I did not want to let go of my little bit of Anita that had been born today.

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Three days later, I was moved in with Anita’s parents so that I could better care for my child. I was, for some reason, nervous to say her name, so I opted to call her Petit as a sort of nickname. God, I loved that child, but I nearly died with having to wake up every single night alone and not have any help with raising her. On my and my in-laws’ request, my dear friend Elizaveta (the country of Hungary) came and breastfed the child. I don’t know how all of that works, but I do know that the baby immediately clung to her and stuck with her whenever she was feeding. It was adorable, but I kind of felt jealous that my own blood liked my friend more than me. 

Childish, I know. But I wanted her to love me more than Eliza, or anyone else, for that matter. How does a father connect with his child whom he cannot breastfeed or anything like that? Anita’s father explained to me that just holding the baby when she sleeps and when she is learning really does help with the bonding process. 

For the next few weeks, I stayed with them and took their advice on practically everything. Eventually, I had to leave their home so as to not burden them, and with Elizaveta’s help, I moved to Paris. Only after I got used to my daughter’s schedule did I realize that I was still a nation and had duties to my country. This was the dilemma: Did I show my child to my fellow countries, or did I keep her away from them all? 

I can’t keep her isolated forever, but showing her to all of the countries may pose a threat to her safety. Eliza suggested I consult one of my best friends and ask him. He had quite a lot of experience with raising children and the child he did raise, became one of the strongest and most important countries to boot. She suggested I talk to the (former) Kingdom of Prussia. 

And when Elizaveta Hedervary tells you to do something, you do it. So, I did. I called up Gilbert (Prussia’s human name), and he promised to come over for dinner the same day I called.

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((Please drop me a Kudos and leave a review for me so I can write better~!))


	3. Gilbert, Unofficial Godfather

Gilbert, just as promised, came over that same day, eyes blazing, fists clenching and unclenching, and gait stiff. He appeared more tense than I’d ever seen him. I only told him over the phone that my problem was a matter of emergency, and I’d figured he knew something bad was going to happen. (He always did have such a keen sense of foresight.) Let me explain how he entered with a bit of background.

  
For the last few weeks, I resided in my Paris villa/apartment with my little child and a nursemaid who took care of her when I couldn’t. Medina was actually quite the strong baby and could stand having formula for food instead of breastmilk. I assume her ability to wane at a nearly inhuman rate has something to do with my being a country, for we naturally heal faster and mature faster than humans, though we do not age very much after a certain point. Anyways, back to the important stuff.

* * *

 It was five in the evening when Gilbert had arrived.

I’d actually been cooking in the kitchen, preparing dinner and making sure my little one wasn’t falling out of her highchair. Of course, I’d padded it and added enough safety items to make it okay for newborns, but a parent still worries. She was waving her arms and playing with the little bit of applesauce I gave her. (Such a messy eater!)

Unfortunately, at the same time I was giving her a little wash in the empty sink, the doorbell rang. So, I wiped her down with baby wipes and carried the little child to the living room with one arm. I set her in the little baby cot I made for her out of pillows, a large seat cushion, and her favorite baby blanket and hurried to open the door.  
  
Gilbert greeted me with glaring scarlet eyes and worried eyebrows. Calloused hands pulled on my face and arms and torso to check for any major injuries, while pale lips berated me for scaring him during a nap. However, when I told him I was not hurt at all and that I had a different kind of emergency, he scowled and smacked the back of my head, hard. I chose to only tell him that I had a child and I needed advice on something big.

Without another word, he asked to see the child. I let him into the house and closed (and locked) the door behind us. I walked ahead of him and led the albino former nation to my baby, who was making all kinds of gargles and whining sounds in her little cot.

I heard Gilbert’s breath catch and smirked to myself in my head. No wonder he feels so awed. My child is the most beautiful to ever have existed. He leaned down and smiled at the little one, eyes warm and wet with tears. He gingerly picked her up, strong, sinewy arms supporting her tiny head and body. She reached up and touched his nose before setting her arm back down and watching his expression with those beautiful oak and ice eyes.

“So what exactly do you need help with, Francis?” Gilbert Beilschmidt’s voice, usually loud and rich with pride and strength, mellowed out and murmured to me like a cool breeze on a summer night. “I doubt you called me here just to see your baby.”

I walked closer and smiled down at the child in his arms, kissing her nose affectionately. She smiled back at me weakly and reached for my face. I let her take my finger instead of my chin and looked to my friend, my dearest friend who’d kept me safe from my own mental turmoil for years after I lost my son. My voice shook as I spoke.

“I need to know whether I should let the others see her, or keep her away and let her live a normal life. Gilbert...My baby means more to me than myself. You know my loyalty to my kin...But I’m scared that they’ll hurt her. In one way or another...You know they can.”

His expression darkened. His eyes turned a deep crimson instead of the usual blood red. Not only did I feel my own heart speed up in nervousness, but I could also hear thunder in the distance, as if even Mother Nature were afraid to anger the Prussian. “You want my help to see whether or not you should let your daughter be seen by the other nations.” I merely nodded, not wanting to further provoke any negative feelings in his mind. “I think you should control who sees her and who doesn’t. You’re her father, Francis. Not me. You must determine for yourself who holds the mental capability and logical competency to not release this information to potential dangers to the child. I am a tactician. Not a parent. Not a conventional one, anyways. I cannot tell you how to help keep your child safe. I will, but in the ways you see fit."

“Francis, Ludwig is a beautiful exception to the fact that I am not a parent. He was raised to be a true child of an army. I raised him alongside my armies and alongside other military powers. He became a man of law and a man of war, no matter how honorable and kind his mentality. I cannot tell you that the way I raised him and introduced him to others will hold true for your child. Especially if she is born of a human mother. I do not know how you should handle such a situation. I’ve never heard of other countries having children with humans. Maybe you should ask one of our mystic friends. Maybe they can help you.”

I tried to not take to heart his inability to tell me what to do. He was right, he’s not a parent or a conventional caretaker. He was a military empire. And even though I was too, he embodied military spirit. He set military standards. Me? I raised children like a human parent would. Or how Elizaveta or Arthur would. Not all are like me. I decided to simply thank him for whatever advice he gave me and we moved to have dinner.

* * *

 While Gil and I sat at the dinner table on opposite sides, my dear child sat in a high chair next to me, making tiny grunts and sounds in response to various things (I did not know what.). We had a simple dinner of lasagna, warm tomato soup, and sweet cinnamon bread. The dinner filled us up a little too much, but we still had enough space in our stomachs for some wine.

So, while watching TV, the two of us sipped on the best possible French wine I had - which was still quite mediocre - and played with the baby. Speaking of the baby, she actually sat calmly in my lap and let me play with her gently, not shaking her too much. Many of my children were quite fussy as babies and could not sit still, except for Matthew, of course. But this little one was so relaxed.

After Gil and I watched a movie and had some ice cream, I fed my child the last bit of what I intended to give her for dinner and bid my dear friend goodbye. I attempted to put the child to sleep as best as I could without pulling out toys or anything of the sort. All in vain. At last, after another hour of trying to put her to sleep, I sung a song from my own childhood and she fell asleep!

Just like that, she knocked out like someone had switched of her awakeness. And I was so, so relieved. You have not experienced true patience until you have put a child to sleep. I can promise that.

But...seeing her little face scrunching up at different sounds and seeing her tiny fists clench around her blanket, I realized why I love kids so much. The fact that this fragile life now depends on me, needs me, makes me the happiest man. Though I lost my love, my beautiful wife, part of her lives in this angel...and I think that’s enough.

* * *

 I was greeted the next morning with a furry butt in my face and the sound of a baby in need of comforting and a diaper change. To my great (dis)pleasure, my cat Charmant placed herself upon my face and autonomously voted to make me breathe through her fur. With a gentle push off of my head, the white cat purred and meowed at me, butting her head against my cheek.

I am very vulnerable to cute things, by the way, so I spent a few minutes just petting her and cuddling her, by which point Medina had gone from crying to just cooing at something softly. I climbed out of bed and walked towards the nursery, my faithful feline friend following me all the way there.

The baby’s tiny gurgles filled my heart with joy. I smiled down at her and lifted her up, watching as the light from the window fell through the polkadot curtains and illuminated little spots on her face. She patted my face and I held her to my chest, one hand cupped under her and the other on the back of her head.

In a matter of seven weeks, I had fallen in love with this child. Who doesn’t, though? Children comprise some of the purest conscience-bearing creatures on this Earth. Not many things or people are so kind and selfless. And seeing my baby, my own life and blood, smile her tiny smile and look at me in awe...I can tell I’ve become one of the luckiest nations ever.

And there went my happiness. I nearly forgot about the other nations. The baby just continued hugging me and fell asleep in my arms, but I contemplated what I should do and how I should do it.

I had some ideas in mind, but none would work...not if I wanted to ensure that my child had a healthy upbringing and no scarring problems. And especially not if I wanted to maintain normalcy in her life, despite my role as the personification of France. I think it’s best you all not know those ideas.

The day went on...and on......and on……...and I finally opted to go buy some clothes for my precious child. More clothes than her grandparents had bought for her, because my fashion-crazed existence had forced me to remember my love for style. And I would be damned if my baby wasn’t the most fashionable and angelic child to ever exist.

* * *

 I used up around ten thousand euros to simply buy the best possible material for my child’s clothing (it had to be softer than air and more comfortable than her baby blanket to ensure that she would enjoy the clothes) and get the material sewn into different kinds of clothes: from dresses for important occasions to pajamas and footies for bedtime. After I was satisfied, I finally made my decision. I would allow the others to see her, but I wouldn’t tell anyone about the child that I wouldn’t trust with my own life. And any talking about her has to be in absolute privacy and in person.

I set off, the next morning, for the World Meeting I had to attend that day. And because I had no babysitters as of yet, I got to bring my little angel with me. I appointed Gilbert as her caretaker during the meeting if I could not care for her because of work obligations. He was the only other country (even if he wasn’t a country anymore) in the world that knew about her that I could trust.

She was ready by the time my driver came to pick us up and take us to the place of the meeting. My tiny child was decked out in a cute black dress with a white ribbon around the middle and soft booties to keep her feet warm. I had also packed quite a few clothes in my work bag in case she needed a change. The two of us got into the car, Medina cradled in the infant car seat her grandparents had bought, and we went about our way.

Once we entered the meeting room, which was mostly full of my fellow personifications, we were already a few minutes late. Not only did our tardiness attract the attention of those nations mingling by the door, but it drew eyes belonging to nations across the room and even those belonging to the servants. I clutched the car seat close to me and attempted to shield her face from the other nations.

I did not look at their faces, but rather spotted my seat at the oak and cherry table in the center of the room and rushed to sit down while trying to not jostle the child too much.

The attention was still on me and the little new life babbling softly from her car seat. Mind you, I am always the center of attention. For so many years, countries from all the habitable continents envied me and my way of life, wanting to experience the constant affection, sexual pleasure, and cultural luxury that I felt every day of my life. Now, at that moment, I felt the most vulnerable and scared that I had ever felt in my entire existence.

Only after Ludwig called everyone to attention and had all the nations sit down did I finally look up to see their expressions, my heart pounding like a drum and my hands shaking like tambourines.

My heart nearly burst from surprise at the looks on their faces…

I pulled back the blanket that I had used to cover her from the wind and sun and my baby smiled at the other nations, mahogany eyes bright with infant innocence. I could not tell what their expressions were, except that they were shocked. One nation stood up and addressed the elephant in the room...


	4. Prussian Mother, British Godfather

Arthur. 

 

Of all people, Arthur was the first to stand up and address me. The man who hated me with everything he had. The man who took any and every chance to destroy my nation during the Middle Ages and even before that. The man...who I loved like a fool. My love for the Anglican nation was not one akin to the love I held for J’eanne, or even Anita. It was a love born from war and passion. A love born from enmity and long nights in silken sheets. A love born from rivalry and affection. Yes, I loved that man that attempted to end me so many times. And now, that man had taken me by my throat and forced me into the limelight. 

He stalked over to me and looked down in the car seat in which my beloved child was gurgling and babbling to herself. My throat seized up, my lips and mouth dried, my heart raced, and my stomach churned. I didn’t even think to pull the portable seat away and shield her from his eyes. Arthur Kirkland, representative of the United Kingdom of England and Northern Ireland, leaned down and looked at my infant daughter. And he smiled. 

That man who despised me like Gilbert despises paperwork, was now smiling and cooing at my little baby. He looked up at me for permission, horrendously thick and dark eyebrows raised in question. Unable to say no out of shock, I just nodded. 

Strong, subtly muscled arms gingerly lifted the baby out from her little protective seat and cradled her to a broad chest. Those same arms that held me in the throes of war and destruction, that same chest that acted as my support when its owner demanded I ride him that last night we spent together. I tried to push those dark, slightly perverted thoughts from my head when Arthur kissed my baby and let her clutch his finger. I hadn’t realized, but Medina had weaned much faster than I had previously expected. And she was already beginning to speak. This random thought occurred to me when I didn’t want to be reminded of my past with the man currently holding my little girl. 

When he spoke, not a single sound was made by anyone. Not even the wind dared to blow in fear of breaking the silence. “This child, this French-born infant, will be my goddaughter. I see that this is a matter of international security and affairs. But this child will not pose a threat to any of you, lest you decide that you are too weak to even subdue such a small creature. I will act as protector and godfather until she or Francis decide that such relations are no longer necessary. I need not explain to anyone the reasons behind my actions, except Francis and any other family members of this infant. That is all.” Arthur set the baby down in her seat and adjusted her position until she was comfortable and then sat in his seat once more. I just didn’t even understand where all of that came from. I made a mental note to go talk to him about this after the meeting.

I think I almost had a heart attack at that. I don’t think I even comprehended his claim until ten minutes after he’d sat down and the meeting had started. 

 

No one else brought up the topic of my baby until the meeting ended for a quick break. The entire time different nations spoke up about their concerns, I felt like the others were either judging me or my child. I knew it was because I had brought something dangerous into the meeting: a threat to their power. I know, childish. Believe me, I was the first to say such behavior is childish. But I understand why they fear such a thing. Having a new nation that is born into such technology and advancement means that the child will grow up having had a great knowledge of many more topics and forms of gaining power than they ever would have. 

That scares them. I can’t blame them because that is also why I subdued many rebellions that occurred in my colonies when I was younger. However, I wish they would just leave us alone. I have enough troubles trying to not lose my mind and still take good care of her; I do not need the other nations giving me trouble about having a daughter. 

The only person I could confirm never gave me any judgement about my baby was Ludwig, the representative for the Republic of Germany. I was quite shocked at that. Ludwig Beilschmidt takes shit from no one and always has such strict discipline and almost militaristic obedience of rules. I never thought for a second that he would be so lenient about my situation. 

The almost angelic, perfect blonde German man approached me later in the day when everyone left for lunch and asked to hold Medina. I had no qualms that Ludwig was a strong man and wouldn’t drop my child, but he was also extremely large and powerful and I was worried that he would crush her. He didn’t. He held her even more carefully than even God would have expected and looked at the baby with this look of absolute adoration, protection, and unbridled love. I actually felt slightly afraid that Ludwig was catching feelings for my newborn, but he handed her back to me with tears in his eyes. He told me solemnly, voice warm and low so as to not startle the drowsy child, “I just love children. I’m sorry. After all I’ve done in the wars I took part in…they make me feel forgiven…” 

“No, no, Ludwig! It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, dear friend! I just get worried when others hold her. She is a newborn after all.” One arm reached forward to hug the misty-eyed man and the other clutched onto my child as gently as possible. I moved back and smiled at him. I could see why Gilbert always called Ludwig a softie and a sucker for cute things. The country personification of perfection literally was so soft and kind to small, adorable creatures because he felt like they loved him, despite his actions in the past. “Ludwig, I’d say all countries feel that way when they interact with creatures as innocent as children and animals.”

Ludwig simply nodded his head and pulled away from my one-armed hug. He walked away after giving me a quick thank you and coddling my baby a few more times. A few moments later, Gilbert walked over to me, pouting like the man-child I know he is. 

“If Artie gets to be her godfather, I gotta be her mom! I’d be better at it than all these other still-functioning nations.” His stature was quite petulant and childish: arms crossed, lips pouting, eyebrows scrunched together, shoulders hunched, legs shuffling and stiff. I laughed at him for what seemed like hours, but were only minutes. I laugh that hard.

“Very well, mon ami. But do not whine at me when you need to be changing her diaper every three hours and she cries for you every twenty minutes.” I smirked at him as his demeanor changed and his face took on a more doubtful expression. Gilbert was quite the motherly type now and always babied his little brother, Ludwig, and any other country that would let him coddle them. Even though he was quite rough, Gil knows how to put someone in their place and take care of them in a way that makes them successful without effort. I know he can help my baby grow up to be perfection. I just wanted him to know it was going to be different from taking care of full countries.

I explained all these thoughts to him. He had no doubts that he wanted to care for a baby. He just wanted to mother someone again because Ludwig was often too busy and never had time for him. We agreed that Gilbert would be living with me until my daughter reached the age of ten, which would be the best time for him to move away and let me take over parenting completely without her being extremely upset. 

And then it came time for the meeting to resume. I kid you not, all of these meetings are such a drag! You just sit there for hours and listen to people talk about problems, blame problems on one another and argue, try to think of a solution to the problems, end up discussing problems that can come from the solution, and then blame the problems caused by the solution on one another and argue. I just hoped I’d never have to take my baby to these God-forsaken meetings ever again. I shall save you the long, and boring explanation of all the events and such during the meeting so we can actually get to the fun events.

Arthur and I did speak after the meeting ended. Our conversation lasted a maximum of twenty minutes until both of us came to an understanding and left. I took my baby home and we hung out the rest of the day. 

(I’m really sorry for leading you on. The actually fun events will come in the next chapter.)

 

I actually was beginning to cook dinner while humming along to the radio I had playing in my kitchen. Medina was seated in her high chair near the counter while I made myself some pasta with a light salad and heated up her formula for our dinner. And then, I noticed what sounded like a weird humming noise coming from behind me. I turned around and realized that my baby was trying to sing with me. My lips split into a wide grin and I rushed over, lifting the girl into my arms and cooing as she hummed and babbled with the radio. I pretended to dance her around the kitchen and laughed when she squealed quietly in delight. 

“My little angel is a singer already~? How many people can say that their baby started singing at the age of less than a year?! My baby will be a musical genius!” I cooed and nuzzled my face against hers and she patted my nose and cheeks with a toothless smile; bright, innocent eyes; and the cutest giggles I’ve ever heard. (I thought in the back of my mind that her quick aging was likely due to my being a country and I figured she would probably be a micronation or something of the sort. Maybe a city.) 

“That’s right, little one! You will be Papa’s songbird and the world will fall in love with your voice, just like I did!” My smile never disappeared, even after I had put her to sleep in my own bed with more lullabies and cuddles and even after I had fallen asleep just a few moments after. This child made me happier than anything. I had no doubt in my heart that I would surrender to Arthur and give him everything if she asked me to. 

Now all I could do was hope that I would raise her right. Sure, I would have Gilbert by my side, but this single father will always worry…especially when his little baby asks to fight his battles for him not even two decades after this moment…


	5. Gilbert's Move, Arthur's Molestation

The day Gilbert moved into my apartment, I was actually over-prepared and therefore, overtired. I hadn’t slept more than five hours on any given day of the week prior to the move. Many of my readers, especially my high schoolers and teens may say that such an amount is more than they’d get generally or is their average. However, I’ve slept approximately 8 hours exactly for the past five decades. Changing a norm like that is extremely difficult and the week before Gilbert came, I was literally losing my shit trying to manage sleep and caring for my beloved child. 

For all seven days, I was cleaning every single inch of the house with every single cleaning item I could find. Mops, towels, feather-dusters, Swiffer mops, wet rags, clorox wipes, bleach, vacuum cleaners, and anything else you can think of. It smelled like cleaning liquid for so long. Of course, I didn’t use all of those materials in one day. I made sure to alternate which days I used which item and liquid and kept watch over my child with extreme care, ensuring that my hands were always freshly washed with baby-safe soap every time I touched her. I just made sure to dilute everything to a safe level that my little baby won’t have any negative physical reaction to the chemicals used. I can’t have my baby so sick with all those terrible chemicals. Alas, cleanliness requires carefulness, especially with infants around. 

Speaking of said infant, my darling child kept me relaxed every time I got too anxious that something wasn’t clean enough. She babbled and sang and did all these cute things while I worked, which acted as a wonderful reminder that being clean isn’t this big of a deal. One time, Medina even giggled on her own while watching my cat lick her groin. I was worried for her mental health. And then I realized she’s an infant. They laugh at weird things.

She also was quite a cuddler, which made my heart happy. Hugging and physical affection are quite important to my expression of love. She let me coddle her all the time, unless we were outside the house on errands (generally consisting of buying excessive amounts of healthy and unhealthy foods and more cleaning supplies) and she wanted to explore. Sweet child cooed at a puppy when it licked her foot from the arms of the woman who was sitting beside me during a bus ride to the supermarket. 

And then, possibly the worst thing Medina did when I was on a cleaning spree (this is the only bad thing. She was amazing the rest of the time.) was dumping all of my favorite baking flour on herself when I was making breakfast. I don’t know how she did it, but she had taken hold of a bag of white pastry flour that had been sitting on a shelf above her (she was seated on the counter) and pulled on it, which dumped the entire bag on her. The child just giggled and innocently smiled at me with her gums. I was mad for a little while and then I melted, which led to her taking advantage of that and hugging me, leaving my beautiful black silk shirt covered in flour. I cried when she went to bed. Thankfully, I was able to clean up the entire mess and she retained no injuries. It wasn’t a very heavy bag of flour, but still! That was a scary experience!

I’m just glad I’ll have Gilbert to take care of her while I get some rest. Don’t misunderstand me, dear reader. I love my child more than my life. But I also love sleep, which is crucial to my existence. So, when the doorbell rang, signifying his arrival, I nearly cried with joy. Medina and I had been watching a show about animals and she was laughing at the giant wolves that were fighting on screen. I really hope she didn’t inherit my past love for violence and bloodlust. Anyways, I rushed to open the door with the child still in my arms and beamed at the sight of Gilbert with several suitcases and a giant bag of toys and soft baby materials that looked new. 

I led him inside to his room (the guest room) while he cooed at the baby and tried to get her to respond to his questions. He explained what all those items were when he’d settled in his room, with all his bags unpacked and his suitcases stored away. “Ludwig wanted me to give this stuff to you because he doesn’t need it anymore and none of it fits any of our pets or anything like that. Don’t worry, I had them cleaned and then sanitized. They’re perfectly safe for the tiny bean.” 

I gave him a look like, “What the actual fuck are you talking about?” And then I said it. He laughed like the Germanic nutjob he is. “Little bean is internet speak for tiny, adorable, innocent creatures. Frankly, that could go for you too, French fry.” 

I huffed. “First off, do not call me French fry when those were made in Belgium. Second off, please refrain from referring to my darling child as a legume in the presence of the other nations. Third off, you need to stop being such a cringey memer.” 

He gasped in offense and then we both laughed like idiots. Medina just babbled and smiled cutely, not really knowing what was occurring, but wanting to participate in the joy nonetheless. 

 

The two of us, Gilbert and I, watched Disney movies and ate a simple lunch of salad and vegetable and bean chili. Meanwhile, Medina sat in her tiny baby chair, getting her food all over her face. I didn’t try to stop it too much because that child listens to virtually no one. So, I just cleaned up her face and hands whenever the food got excessively messy. And then she’d go and get herself dirtier, so this continued until we’d finished eating. Actually, I had already fed her earlier that same hour, but she was bored and I didn’t want to give her anything that would leave her with some kind of choking hazard, so I gave her a mini tub of applesauce to eat/play with. At least with food, she’ll get dirty, not dead. Oops, that got a little too dark. Sorry! 

Once we’d finished lunch, Gilbert took Medina to my room so he could put her to bed until dinner time. 

Recently, since she’s been getting quite fussy about diapers and such, I’ve kept her in my room to make sure if she awoke, she’d get my attention and I could fix the problem. Poor baby had been getting diaper rashes as well, but her pediatrician said that’s normal because her skin is still quite sensitive and has to get accustomed to the environment.

I admit, it’s much nicer having him here because I’m not left in complete silence like usual. I love my daughter, as I’ve told you multiple times already. But having a person in the house isn’t the same as having another adult in the house. I have someone to talk to, which is very nice. 

To my great surprise and pleasure, Gil had brought his entire movie collection from Ludwig’s house to watch with me. I know, movies don’t really help me reach my goal of talking to more adults (and it doesn’t solve the world productivity problem), but it’s still nice to relax for once. So, after putting Medina to bed, the two of us watched old Disney movies and sang along with the songs. Now, we tried to keep the volume down so the baby wouldn’t wake up, which would lead to even more hassle to put her back to sleep. 

Eventually, even we tired and had to go to bed. We bid each other goodnight and walked into our respective rooms to retire for the night. I don’t know what Gilbert did, but I washed up and curled up in bed with my baby, who I always kept close to my body because of how easily she gets cold and because we still need to bond and physical proximity helps keep her connected to me emotionally, since I didn’t share an umbilical cord with her. 

Medical terms aside, I just had to be close to my baby and keeping her in my bed instead of a crib helped with that. I held her close enough to me that she could hear my heart and stay warm, but not choke on my nightshirt. I cradled her in my arms and made sure my hug wouldn’t crush her tiny body. My eyes slowly began to close as I dozed off to her soft sniffles and whimpers. 

 

All I remember about waking up the next morning was feeling someone’s lips on my neck and hands on my hips while some kind of hard surface rubbed up against my rear. My eyes shot open and I curled around my child in a protective position while reaching a hand back to punch or strangle that bastard that was holding me so oddly. I tried to keep quiet so my baby wouldn’t wake up, but I wanted to scream for Gilbert. My eyes found a pair of emeralds staring at my face. 

Arthur Fucking Kirkland had invaded my house and then my room and then my privacy. 

I glared at him. I rolled over and pinned him down by sitting on top of his stomach, one of my hands gripping his collar while the other remained at jaw-level, as if anticipating a punch. 

“Francis, wait! Let me explain!” I hissed at him angrily.

“You have one fucking minute to explain to me why you’re in my bed, practically humping me dry.” Arthur laughed nervously and started explaining how Gilbert had let him in because he’d needed to talk to me about something. My anger was directed towards both of them now. Likely, though, Gilbert didn’t know Arthur was going to climb into my bed. Anyways.

Just like when we were younger (and like a few moments ago), Arthur smiled up at me gently and held my hips in his hands. His voice was soft, sad, almost a little reminiscent when he spoke. “You’re as beautiful as you were the first time I met you.” I was actually going to scream. The nerve of this man! He reached up and stroked along my cheek, letting the hand run down my chest and then move across to trace down my side. I admit, I was quite aroused. But this British asshole was basically molesting me in my own room, where my infant daughter was still fast asleep. 

With a growl, I shoved him off of me and climbed off the bed gingerly, trying to not jostle it and wake up the baby. I rushed to the other side of the large, king-size mattress and slowly scooped up the little one into my arms. She made a few tiny noises of protest, but fell asleep when she heard my heartbeat once again. “Why are you here, Arthur? What do you want? Because I know I did not just witness you rub your hands all over me after saying you just wanted to talk.” 

You may be asking, why did I not just push him off the moment he touched me? Why did I not claw his eyes out and whoop his pasty arse for even touching me like that? I only have one answer for you, I love him. God, I love him. As much as I hate the relations we have had, as much as I hate that he has taken my body for his own without my consent, as much as I’ve done the same to him, as much as we’ve tried to destroy each other, I love him. And I miss his touch, truly. 

Now that I am back on topic and I look back at that moment, I may have looked like some kind of damsel in distress when Gilbert walked into my room with the intention of waking me up. He laughed at the scene and explained that breakfast was ready. He left once more and Arthur sat up, climbing out of my bed. “That just now was me just remembering our nights of passion as youths. I wanted to talk to you about your child.” Arthur’s expression quickly darkened and he gave me a serious look. “Should you so wish, Norway, Romania, and I are willing to make your child a different kind of representative so that she may live forever with you. I understand that she is your only human child and can die because of her mother’s human origins. Medina has the potential to be a personification like you are because you’re such an old nation. That is all. Oh, one more thing. I wanted to remind you that tomorrow is Bastille Day. It’s the day your daughter will be considered a part of the royal family of France, as per ancient tradition. Alright then. Goodbye Francis.” He smiled at me with that crooked grin I fell in love with during his punk phase. 

I grunted in acknowledgement of his proposition and subsequent reminder. “Goodbye, Arthur. Next time, a phone call will do.” 

He laughed. “Come now, love, we know we can’t do that. America’s governmental assholes are tracking all phone calls these days, as well as the rest of the UN. One last thing.” 

I whined at his constant requests. “Whaaat?” 

Arthur grinned at me sheepishly, eyes bright with mirth. “Can I get a kiss before I leave?” I sputtered and threw a pillow at him and before I could say anything or stop him, he had pressed his lips to mine in a hard kiss and reached around me and my baby to grip my ass, hard. I yelped into his kiss and then he sprinted off while I growled and hissed and whisper-shouted curses at him in all the languages I could think of. “Jackass!” He laughed at that last one and left the apartment. Gilbert wasn’t fazed by any of this. 

I must explain this. Arthur is only playful like he just was when he’s around his brothers, his drinking buddies, or me. Which initially seems quite odd, but is quite normal for him. All I know is, that man does not get to touch me again for another three months, should he come by and try to actually fuck me in my room and not just touch me. 

I shivered in disgust and then Medina woke up, her mouth opening wide in a cute little yawn. I nuzzled my nose into her cheek and cooed and gently murmured “I love you’s” and other words of affection to wake her up more. She smiled at me with her soft gums while Gilbert walked over and kissed the back of her head. 

The beautiful former nation smiled as well and spoke in his low, rough tambor from his morning voice. “I made banana-cardamom pancakes with maple syrup and a strawberry reduction as the sauces.” My eyes widened and my lips curved into a bright grin. I loved when Gilbert made fancy food. He was more of a home-style cook and often made hearty, comfort food. However, his taste was almost as good as mine in terms of fancy cooking. I mean, his Frederick the Great was quite the Francophile. Not that he actually loved me, but rather he loved French culture and such. 

We enjoyed the lovely breakfast after I’d washed up and given Medina a bath in her new bath cushion. It was shaped like a sun and was yellow, red and orange. It was actually a relatively slow day, which surprised me because with Gilbert, there is always something to do. 

However...there is one thing that surprised me above all else that happened that day...Antonio visited. (It’s strange because we haven’t talked in literally a full year. We always talk at least once a week. He hasn’t spoken to me face-to-face, on the phone, or even by writing in a full twelve months.) And even more surprising, he knew about my baby’s future…


End file.
